Broken, a Destiel Story

Part 18

3 months later

"Cas?" Dean asked walking into the main room of the bunker. He couldn't find the angel anywhere. He looked to Sam and Jack who were packing bags with weapons. They'd found a case involving three dead bodies and what looked to be a pack of werewolves a couple of hours away and were just about ready to leave. "Have you guys seen Cas?" he asked both of them.

"I think he's downstairs," Sam said, zipping up his bag. "I think he's painting. He said he had a rough night."

Dean nodded. "Meet you guys at the car in a few," he said. He tossed the keys to Sam and headed down the stairs to the basement. If Cas had had another rough night he hadn't told Dean. And Dean hadn't woken up to Cas screaming like he usually did when the angel had nightmares.

"Hey, Cas," Dean said when he finally found the angel in what had become Castiel's art room in the last few months. There were over a dozen paintings on tables, leaning against the walls or propped up on easels. Dean hadn't been down there in a while, and he was surprised to see how much Cas had done in the past few weeks. They were all beautiful. Mostly landscapes, but a few of animals and humans, and even one of Dean with his head down, smiling. Cas really did have a talent for this, but the fact that he had so many new pieces only told Dean that his anxiety had spiked and it made it difficult for Dean to enjoy the angel's work.

"Dean," Cas said, turning to him, surprised. "I thought you had left."

"We're about to," Dean said, stepping closer to the angel. "But I had to say goodbye." He waited for Castiel to put his supplies down and then gripped the angel's forearms in his hands, gently. "Are you okay?" he asked, sincerely.

"Of course," Cas replied, looking into the hunter's eyes.

"Cas," Dean said, eyeing him. "I know why you paint, and Sam just said you had a rough night. Be honest with me." 

Cas sighed and looked down. He moved out of Dean's grasp. "He wasn't supposed to say anything," he said.

"Why?" Dean asked, moving closer to Cas again. "Cas, why didn't you say anything?"

"Because I didn't want to worry you, Dean," Cas said, looking back up at him with his puppy dog eyes.  "And I didn't want you to feel responsible for me. I wanted you to go on this hunt. You need that. I didn't want to keep you here."

"Cas, if you're having trouble I want to know about it," Dean said sternly.

"Dean, I'm always "having trouble"," Cas said, putting the words in quotes. "So are you. Our lives are trouble."

"You know what I mean, Cas," Dean said, staring hard at the angel.

"Dean, I'm okay," Cas said, reassuringly.

"Really?  Then why all the new paintings?" Dean said, gesturing with his hand. "Cuz you only paint when you are having nightmares and panic attacks about Uriah. So are you having them more now?"

"I never stopped having them, Dean," Cas said softly. "I just stopped telling you about them because I found a way to deal with it. And this is it." He gestured to his work. "And it really does help me. And then I don't have to burden you with every nightmare or panic attack that I have."

"Cas, you're not . . ." Dean got angry enough that he turned away from the angel, rubbing his hands on his face. He looked back at him.  "You're not burdening me when you tell me that you are having a hard time!" He didn't mean to yell but he did. "I love you, damn it! You are everything to me, Cas, and I want to know what's going on with you! You aren't protecting me by hiding this from me!"